


True Son and Heir

by VileWile



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22436941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VileWile/pseuds/VileWile
Summary: Will's graduation ceremony takes a slightly different turn as the young Ranger has an unusual request for his master.
Relationships: Crowley Meratyn & Halt O'Carrick, Halt O'Carrick & Will Treaty
Comments: 21
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to post this work today as a way to celebrate my own graduation. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did.

From "Erak's Ransom":

**“Well, good for you. So … one other detail. You know we need to give you more of a title than Ranger Will because there are three other Wills in the Corps. It’s not a problem that applies to Halt, of course, because there’s only one Halt. “Normally we’d use your family name but you were an orphan. So in your case, we looked for a name that reflected your achievements over the past five years. We looked at Will Boar Killer.” He made a gesture of distaste. “Didn’t like that. Someone suggested Will o’ the Bridge to commemorate the destruction of Morgarath’s bridge. But it sounded too much like will-o’-the-wisp, so we let that one go as well. “Finally, your mentor”—he nodded to Halt—“suggested a name that had to do with one of your most meaningful contributions to the Kingdom. He pointed out that you were one of those instrumental in the creation of the treaty between Araluen and Skandia—a very important milestone in our country’s history. So the suggestion is that you be known from now on as Will Treaty. How does that suit?"**

_Will Treaty_

He turned the phrase in his head, trying the sound of it. It was a fine name to go by, he decided. Yet still... There was something in what Crowley had just said that gave him a pause. That bit about Halt not needing a last name, because there was only one called so.

Will suddenly got struck with a shocking realisation that he'd never, for the five years of his apprenticeship, paid any attention to the fact that Halt apparently had only one name. _Quite an omission for someone in an identical predicament_ he thought wryly. As far as Will was concerned, Halt was Halt and that was that. But was it possible that Halt was just like him? That he'd, too, never known his own father? Will shook his head in dismay, wondering how little he knew about the man who meant so much to him. Halt never talked about his past, and all Will knew was that his master had come to Araluen from Hibernia before the first war with Morgarath.

"Will? How do you like it?"

Crowley's question suddenly brought Will back to reality.

"I'm sorry Crowley, I've just been thinking..."

He became aware of his mistake as the two Rangers exchanged amused glances. _I really should know better by now._

"Very dangerous pastime" reminded Halt, a shadow of a smug smirk touching the corners of his lips. Will sighed inwardly. _If I've already made a fool of myself, may as well use the opportunity._

"Is it true, Halt?" he asked out of the blue, and as his mentor's expression changed to a frown, added hurriedly: "That you don't have a last name? Like..." He wanted to say 'like me' but decided it would sound rather awkward.

Halt looked at him with unreadable face, his dark eyes glazing with that keen intensity of his that seemed to penetrate through the soul.

"No, not at all like you, I'm afraid." he said slowly and paused for a while. When he spoke again his voice sounded wary. Reluctant, almost. "I had a name, once. But it was long time ago, and I left it on the shores of Hibernia when I set off for Araluen. Along with many other things."

The silence that followed stuffed the small cabin like wool, as master and apprentice watched one another. The latter looked pensive, the former nearly wistful.

Finally, it was Crowley who broke the impasse. He cleared his throat and repeated, for the third time in the last few minutes:

"If you don't mind me asking, did you decide whether the surname 'Treaty' is fine by you, Will?" This time, there was a slight undercurrent of exasperation in his tone.

Will shifted his gaze from his mentor back to the Commandant with a touch of relief. He'd already faced a considerable amount of challenges in his short career as a Ranger, but what he was about to do filled him with more apprehension than standing against any of his past enemies. For now it was not an enemy he was going to face.

Yet he knew that if he shied back now, he'd regret his cowardice for many years to come.

So he took a deep breath and went on.

"It's a great name, Crowley, and I'd gladly take it" he began, searching carefully for the right words "but except from my father's name, which is lost to me, there's only one other I've every truly wanted." Crowley spread his hands in a questioning gesture, bidding Will to explain.

"Alas, I do not know what it is." And then, as Commandant's brows furrowed in confusion, turned back to Halt.

"Only you do. Because it's yours."

Will expected it to be difficult. It was worse.

He saw Halt's eyes narrow as the Ranger regarded him with a fixed stare. While previously it felt like it could pierce through a soul, now it was as if it was boring holes in his skull. And it was absolutely unrelenting, not ever ceasing for a blink of an eye. Will started to wonder how much longer he would be able to bear it, but Halt sat in his chair with an air of motionlessness sufficient to embarrass a mountain. Thousand years could pass before he as much as budged, from how it looked like.

And then, without a word or warning, he took a scroll of parchment and started to write. What, Will could not fathom. All he could do was listen to scratches of Halt's quill as it left more and more words behind, wet ink glistening in the warm afternoon light.

Will glanced at Crowley. The Commandant seemed as bewildered as Will felt. And as worried.

"Halt, I am sorry, I haven't meant to..." God, but he really hoped he'd not managed to upset his master. Halt stopped him with a curt weave of a hand, not even bothering to look up from the parchment. He finished whatever he'd been working on with a complex signature, sprinkled it all over with profuse amount of sand and immediately after set on melting red wax over a candle. With his other hand, he rummaged through a drawer which, as Will knew, contained at least two dozen different seals and signet rings acquired in decidedly illicit ways.

The seal Halt chose this time was one Will had never seen before. It was carved from glistening black stone that seemed opaque at first, but when the Ranger moved it to press on a freshly made blob of wax, it caught rays of light and glinted with inner light in vibrant hues of red and yellow, as if the seal contained a flame of its own.

Halt shook off the sand and proffered the parchment toward Will, his expression still unreadable.

"You don't know what you ask for" he spoke finally, his voice quiet and so deep that it could've been coming from the bottom of a well. "Yet if you wish it, it shall be yours."

Will took the document diffidently. Curious as he was, he contained the feeling and met his master's eyes again.

"Halt, you must know I've never meant to offend you."

The Ranger smiled. With eyes only, but Will could recognize it clearly after all the years they've spent together.

"I know. On the contrary, I'm deeply honoured. It's just... Well, see for yourself." He gestured toward the parchment in Will's hands.

Thus encouraged, Will began to read.

_I, Cathal Néill mac Áed O'Carrick, Seventh of the King's Rangers, Keeper of Redmont Fief, Vice-Commandant of the Ranger Corps and the rightful King of Clonmel, hereby declare that Will from Redmont, once known as my apprentice, shall henceforth be acknowledged as my true son and heir for all intents and purposes._

Will stared. Then, he read it again. And again. His throat felt dry, and he felt too overwhelmed to speak, even if he knew what to say. The figure impressed in wax depicted a serpent twisted in eye-trapping knots, biting his own tail. It resembled perfectly the state of his own mind at the moment.

"Forgive me" Halt said, and his voice was unusually soft. Will raised his head, utterly confused. "You asked me for a glass of water, and I'm drowning you in a river. I wish I had a better name to give you, but this is the only one I have, and if I am to do this, it'd better be done properly."

"I don't understand" muttered Will weakly. "You are some Hibernian prince? With a claim to the throne of this... Clonmel? How...?"

"I'm afraid I was just born that way." Now, a smile actually reached Halt's lips, though it seemed rather bitter. "You have a choice, though. If you sign, you shall be royalty. But I warn you: take your time and choose wisely; it's hardly worth it."

"Enough." They both turned at the unexpected interruption as Crowley, who was all but forgotten by now, went on. "What game are you playing Halt? What is this nonsense?" The Commandant seethed. He was nothing like his cheerful self from few minutes ago. Will felt a stab of anxiety - he'd never seen the man like this, with face cold and hard as stone and eyes smoldering with rage.

But Halt met his friend's furious stare with serene calm, not fazed in the slightest.

"I am who I am" he replied with confidence so dignified that even his unkept hair and simple clothing could not make him appear any less regal. "And I have every right to do it, by the laws of both Clonmel and Araluen. It's between Will and me, and no concern of yours."

Jaw muscles bulged under Crowley's skin as he clenched his teeth.

"I see" he said in tone flatter and colder than a frozen lake. "Obviously, you'll do whatever you please, as usual. But we will talk."

"We will" agreed Halt, his manner all but laid-back.

The Ranger Commandant spun on his heel and quit, slamming the door behind him. Halt winced at the sound.

"And they praise him for being so quiet" he mused with a sigh.

Then, upon noticing Will's stark uneasiness, he added in reassurance:

"Don't worry about it. I'll deal with him in due time."

Will unconsciously raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. Crowley's reaction seemed rather serious to him.

"Trust me, Will. It not the first time he throws a fit of pique. His temper has been better recently, but if you only knew how many times in our youth I had to save him from fights he could have easily walked away from..." Halt shrugged. "Anyway, our little estrangement shall not hinder your graduation, if that's bothering you."

Though Will was quite positive that "a fit of pique" was not a phrase he himself would pick in this situation, he determined it was indeed better to leave it to his mentor.

Then he remembered what had started the whole argument and his gaze fell back on the freshly made document lying before him.

"So 'Halt' is not even your real name?" he asked, his voice dull from stunned disbelief. Everything he'd deemed certain crumbled down and turned to dust in an instant. It felt like subsiding into a bog, with nothing to hold on but mud.

"Didn't I tell you that names are not important?" The Ranger asked with an eyebrow raised in mild mockery, but he dropped the taunting manner upon seeing Will's miserable expression. Instead, he closed his eyes and sighed.

"It's as real as any other. More, perhaps." He looked away, eyes focused on nothing in particular. "But it wasn't given to me by my parents. It was Pritchard - my mentor - who came up with it, even if he meant it as a jest. You see, it was his way of jeering at my sneaking skills. He claimed my technique was so bad I seemed to be limping, and would keep on calling me "poor halt boy" at every opportunity. At least until I got hurt in the legs and really had hard time walking - then he stopped for some reason." He sounded nostalgic, a ghost of a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "When I went to Araluen, I adopted the epithet as my name. It'd be a shame to lose such an opportunity for irony."

Will just gawked. He knew, rationally, that his master must have been a boy at some point in time and probably had a teacher himself, but nonetheless, the whole concept felt totally abstract at the instinctive level. Halt - or Cathal, perhaps - Will wasn't sure of anything any longer - laced his fingers and looked at the younger man perspicaciously before speaking again:

"But enough about me. It's your day, after all."

 _Yes. Yes, it is._ Will slowly pulled the inkwell toward himself and dipped Halt's quill with great deliberation. Then he paused. Somehow, it didn't feel right to just scribble his name next to Halt's intricately crafted signature.

"So... If I sign it, I'll truly be your son?"

"No. You'll be my son _legally_. To truly be my son, you needn't do anything; as far as I'm concerned, you've already been for some time now.

Will felt his throat catch. He could barely breathe, let alone speak.

"You really should think this through, though. It's not much of a bargain - the family's such that one must always watch his drink around them, and preferably also have someone watch his back. The only advantage is the sour face aristocrats make when they are forced to title you 'Your Highness' at banquets."

But Will didn't even wait for Halt to finish. There was no force that could dissuade him now, as he scrawled his name at the bottom of the page. Simple "Will" in not so neat handwriting. For some reason, Will seemed to be completely unable to improve his penmanship, despite all his and Halt's efforts.

"Technically, I'm still an apprentice, not yet ready to think." he stated with a grin.

And regretted it immediately, noticing an utter lack of amusement on Halt's face.

"I see."

 _Oh shit._ Will desperately tried to think about something wise to say. It didn't work very well.

"May I call you 'father' from now on?" he asked sheepishly.

Once, Will thought Halt never smiled. Later on, he'd learned it wasn't quite true. Halt had, in fact, a considerable range of smiles, though few of them were in any way comforting - and many downright terrifying.

But a smile such as one that now emerged on Halt's face, he'd only seen once. On the day he'd declined Baron's offer to join the Battleschool and received his Bronze Oakleaf.

"Absolutely, my son."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They say marital quarrels are like rock concerts - new pieces go first, and then we come back to the old hits.

Two men sat at the opposite sides of a plain oakwood table, apparently not paying attention to anything except steaming contents of their respective mugs. In particular, they ignored muffled sounds of a terribly discordant and rowdy Skandian song coming from the outside, accompanied by wild bouts of laughter and occasional mandola chords that somehow managed to get through the racket. Both men leaned in their chairs with an air of leisure, but at the same time they seemed ready to move, always on the verge of jumping into action. Their faces indicated nothing, bearing identical blank expressions.

Crowley watched in thought the man who was closer to him than anyone in this world. The man whom he knew almost as well as he knew himself. Or used to believe he did, at least.  
At first, he'd assumed Halt was just pulling some strange ruse too embroiled for his daft commander to understand. This alone would've been troublesome enough; his friend had a penchant for obscure schemes that didn't align very well with the letter of law, and Duncan could pretend to look away only so many times. But as he came to think about it, Halt's claim began to make so much sense. It fit, somehow. The things Halt did, the things he said. Unbelievable as it might be, he was certain now it was true. Not that the veracity of it would make things any better. Frankly, he had no idea how he was going to explain Will strutting around with royal surname of a foreign kingdom, and to make it all work in the papers... His head ached already at the mere thought.  
And there was also another side to it. Halt was anything but a blabbering type, but why did he not trust him with such important information? He'd thought they were too close for one of them to keep a secret this big. One part of him, the Ranger part, understood perfectly well the need to hide anything not necessary to reveal. But there was also a different part, one that wasn't so easily persuaded by reason. And it hurt.

"Does the King know?" he began without any preamble.

Halt took his time sipping coffee and replied with a barely noticeable shrug.  
"If he does, he hides it exceptionally well."

Crowley slammed his fist on the table. The mugs clattered; few coffee drops landed on the tabletop, which earned him a reproachful look coupled with a raised eyebrow from the younger man.

"Damn you, Halt. How the hell am I even supposed to fix this mess? What am I supposed to tell him?"

"The truth." This time the shrug was quite distinct. "Or a decently crafted lie."

Crowley huffed in irritation.  
"No. You do it yourself. I'm done covering your ass."

Halt, for a change, raised both eyebrows in mock astonishment.  
"Done? And when, pray tell, did you do that? Perhaps when you failed to mention to Duncan that leaving a boy who saved his bloody kingdom to rot in slavery is not particularly honourable? Or that counting on Skandian courtesy alone with regard to his only daughter's safety - who, let me remind you, is accidentally also your own goddaughter - doesn't count as wise dynastic policy. Or that refusing to speak with me about it might not be such a clever move, after all."

Crowley eyed him for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was unusually low and dry.  
"Are you certain you want to start with this all over again?"

"I didn't want to start with this in the first place." Halt's voice was almost down to a growl. "But it didn't feel at that time like I had much choice."

"Neither did I. I didn't want the job, remember? You tricked me into it. We were supposed to manage everything together, but you leave it all on my shoulders. Why, I have twice as much work only for your exploits. I've made mistakes, yes, but I had my reasons, and truth be told, it doesn't matter what I do, there's always a bunch of you convinced they know best what should be or should have been done and that their point of view matters most. So here I am, juggling everyone's particular interests up to the point when I can still pretend, however barely, to be following King's orders, hoping I can keep the casualties low and, with luck, my head too."

Crowley could imagine different kinds of reaction to his rant, but _this_ wasn't one of them. He'd just confessed his struggles and his dear brother, son of a bitch, actually had a gall to look mildly amused.

"You needn't worry about your precious ginger head. I'm next in command and Duncan knows it. He can't be that suicidal."

"How consoling." Crowley's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Halt leaned back in his chair with a sigh.  
"Very well. I'll talk to the King. As one royal to another." The sardonic smirk accompanying the last sentence vanished quickly, replaced with a slight frown. "At least I'll get to know if he's any closer to forgiving me that I nearly had his daughter beheaded on a diplomatic mission."

Crowley's gaze softened a bit at that.  
"There's nothing to forgive. The inquiry's shown you couldn't be reasonably expected to prevent any of this."

 _If only it occurred to Duncan for once that, perhaps, I'm still only human._ Halt thought bitterly. Such was the price of having a reputation.  
"'Reasonsbly' is the key word here, and it doesn't go well in one sentence with 'royalty'."

Crowley greeted the statement with an eyebrow raised in a very Halt-like manner.  
"Said a crown prince."

"Said a crown prince." _That's probably why I can't quite forgive myself either._

There was a short pause as both Rangers regarded each other.

"Are we done?" Halt asked from behind steepled fingers.

Crowley tilted his head, a familiar twinkle appearing in his eyes.  
"Yes, I believe we are, _Your Highness_."

"Then don't spoil the celebration and get away from my sight, _peasant_ " Halt replied in a tone lofty enough for three rulers.

Crowley just shook his head tiredly.  
"I knew something was wrong with you."

Halt snorted in derision.  
"With me? You are a redhead, a bastard, and a Ranger. You could hardly make yourself appear more blatantly untrustworthy; in fact, you're so deterring that at the beginning I thought you _wanted_ to get rid of me."

"Then why did you stay?"

The younger man slovenly waved his hand, making a show of indifference.  
"Probably out of spite."

"That I'll grant you, _my lord_ \- not very reasonable indeed."

Halt gave him a half-hearted scowl.  
"You know what's truly unreasonable? That I keep talking to you while Horace eats up all the food out there."

This time it was Crowley's turn to shrug.  
"At least we have coffee."

Halt whirred the dark liquid inside his mug.  
"No, we don't. That's the last of what I've been able to salvage from Will." he professed miserably.

"Damn."

"Damn." Halt repeated dryly and sent a cross look toward his oldest friend. "Now, tell me again how hard _your_ life is."


End file.
